


All Bets Are Off

by Helendmeyourears



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:30:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helendmeyourears/pseuds/Helendmeyourears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bet is won, nugs are given importance, and Dorian realizes that life with the Inquisitor will never be boring, all in the span of a day at the Winter Palace. No nugs were harmed in the writing of this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Bets Are Off

“Kaffas, what _is_ that dreadful sound?” Dorian cried.

His outburst startled the Orlesians nearby, all of whom shot him cool looks of disdain from behind their masks after they recovered. All except a man who tripped over his own feet and dropped his petit four into a fountain, at any rate. He stood staring at his cake in its watery grave, then began to roll up the sleeves of his puffy (too puffy, in Dorian’s opinion) shirt, and for all intents and purposes appeared to be preparing to challenge Dorian to a duel, at least until he saw Leliana take a small but pointed step closer to Dorian’s side.

Dorian almost couldn’t blame the man; the petit fours were surprisingly delicious. Still, he was glad to see the Orlesian scurry away without making an even bigger scene, even if it meant that he would feel he owed Leliana a favor. A terrifying notion, that. 

“I take it that means you still don’t know?” Leliana said. The smirk on her face did nothing to ease Dorian’s mind.

“The source of the sound, you mean? I’ve heard it several times since I arrived at Skyhold and am unfortunately no closer to discovering what it is. I had thought it a dying nug or something of the sort, but it couldn’t possibly have followed us here. I suppose you know where it’s coming from?”

“Oh, yes. And it is closer than you think,” she laughed.    

Dorian frowned at that, but before he could reply, Lavellan suddenly appeared at his side.

“What did I miss?” Arturo panted.

His hair, which had been carefully styled as per Josephine’s suggestion, was mussed and slightly damp with sweat, and his dark skin did little to hide the way his face was flushed. Dorian also noted a slight tear in Arturo’s dark blue sash that hadn’t been there before, accompanied by a noticeable bulge he knew couldn’t be blamed on the hors d’oeuvres.

He wasn’t terribly surprised by any of it, or by the rush of affection that welled up inside him. Arturo had been fidgeting in his formal attire all day, unaccustomed to its tight-fitting, stiff confines as he was, and a nervous habit of running his hands through his hair had ruined the style long before they’d arrived.  

“What do you mean, what did you miss? Where have you been?” Dorian asked.

“Oh, you know,” said Arturo, with a jerk of his head in the direction of an elegant terrace that stretched up to the second floor of the palace. “Around.”

“You’re joking,” said Dorian, impressed. “And here I thought I’d be the one to get us disgracefully tossed out of this soiree. I must tell my mother; she’d be so delighted to find I’m not, in fact, the worst behaved guest in all Thedas.”

“Far from it. You have the good sense to not go jumping from high ledges in the middle of a ball, unlike our dear Inquisitor here,” Leliana said. But the tone of her voice was light, more amused than anything else.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” she continued. “Do try to remember the delicacy of the situation.”

And with a grin and nod of her head, she sauntered away, back into the palace.

“Climbing down would’ve taken more time,” Arturo muttered, though he wisely waited until she’d gone to say it.  

“Never mind that,” Dorian said, with an impatient wave of his hand. “Did you happen to see a nug anywhere around while you were gallivanting about up there?”

“I couldn’t-” Arturo began to say, then trailed off, his shoulders slumping miserably. “Oh, Creators. Why?”  

“I keep hearing this gasping wheeze that seems like the sort of ridiculous noise they’d make upon dying. I’d almost think myself going mad, if Leliana hadn’t confessed to hearing it too.”

To Dorian’s surprise, Arturo’s blush returned in full force, this time spreading to the tips of his ears.     

Arturo opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again. Finally he said, “Right. It’s, erm. Do you mean-?”

And then Arturo repeated the sound perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that Dorian was somewhat perturbed.

“Yes, that’s it exactly! So what is it that’s to blame for this horror inflicted upon the world? _Is_ it a nug? Or perhaps something unexpected, like one of Leliana’s birds?”

“Unexpected,” Arturo echoed, with a breathy, sheepish laugh. “You could say that. Dorian, it’s, um. Well. It’s me. It seems to happen when I jump.”

At Dorian’s blank stare, he rambled on, wringing his hands.

“Keeper Istimaethoriel was the first to point it out to me. My brother and sister noticed before she had, of course, but they didn’t point it out because, well- nobody did, not to my face anyhow, until the Keeper caught wind of some whispers and told me that if Gehron can smell like the alley of a shem city and still lead hunts, then I can learn how to lead the clan well no matter what absurd thing comes out of my mouth. So I’ve tried to get used to it. And- I mostly have. So, yes, anyway. If you could please say something and put me out of my misery now, that would be grand.”

Dorian took a moment to process that. He said, “Are you quite certain you’re not part nug?”

Arturo threw his head back and laughed again, a real one this time, exposing the smooth sweep of his throat just above the high collar of his uniform. Dorian felt something stir in his belly; an untimely urge to pull that collar down and mark the perfect skin he’d find there. He hastily pushed the thought away.   

“Elf blood isn’t usually dominant, but who knows? Iron Bull tells me the qunari are part dragon. At this point anything is possible,” Arturo said.

“I suppose it would explain why you eat everything you find,” Dorian mused.

“There’s not a whole lot of diversity in the Dalish diet,” Arturo explained with a shrug, his lips curved in a small, rueful smile. “But while we’re on the subject of nugs, I do have a slight problem.”

He motioned for Dorian to follow, and led the way to a shadowy alcove as far away from the curious eyes of the other guests as possible. Once there, he tugged at his belt, fiddling with both it and the sash to loosen them.

“This isn’t going to lead to a scandalously naughty time the way I want it to, is it?” Dorian sighed, when Arturo had finished and beckoned Dorian over to see what contraband he was hiding.

This close, he felt the warmth of Arturo’s body, could see the way his vallaslin, a shade of brown slightly darker than his skin, stood out in the pale light, the way his pupils dilated as Dorian stepped closer…

…And the tiny, sleeping nug nestled in the swathe of blue fabric of his sash.   

“Amatus,” Dorian said, weakly. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”    

“I couldn’t just leave him behind! Celene can’t take care of an empire properly, I doubt she could care for this little fellow any better,” Arturo reasoned. “Also, Sera bet me that I couldn’t.”

“Questions, so many questions.” Dorian shook his head. “And yet all I can think is that I’ve never wanted to dance with you more.”

“You may regret that statement. I’m a truly awful dancer.”

Later, after Arturo had smuggled his new pet to one of the Inquisition’s soldiers, after they dealt with the situation at hand, his dancing skills (or lack thereof) wouldn’t matter. They’d both be too bruised, too bloody, too weighed down with an exhaustion that ran bone-deep to care about proper steps.

They would start out hesitantly, with a safe distance between them to act as a sort of barrier, connected at only certain points- one of Dorian’s hands on Arturo’s waist, the other clasped in Arturo’s hand with the lightest of touches.

And then, seemingly all at once, their fumbling hesitancy would drop away. _Everything_ would drop away as Arturo twined his fingers with Dorian’s, as they fell into one another and Arturo’s head rested on Dorian’s shoulder, their heartbeats syncing to the same rhythm, and they danced, though the more accurate word would be shuffled, moving together as one under a blaze of light from the faraway stars.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not the only one who thinks the male Inquisitor sounds funny when he jumps, am I? I may be biased- my first two playthroughs featured female Inquisitors. 
> 
> Please know that if you take the time to tell me if you loved or hated this fic, either through a comment or kudos, I will forever be in your debt.


End file.
